Spring Things – 3

A whim took me down our trail to the marsh late yesterday afternoon. I hadn’t ventured in that direction in months, but a few weeks ago my hubby had been given a tiny fir seedling at a special event. He’d planted it in the woods near the edge of the marsh, and today was heading there to water it. I grabbed my camera and went along. (With both bear and cougar in the area these days, it’s nice to have his company.)


The marsh is a transitional mess of lingering brown and gold slowly submitting to new green. Lily pads have already emerged from their winter depths and unfurled over the surface in still places.


A pair of mallards squawked briefly at our presence (it really couldn’t be called quacking) and disappeared into the grasses.


I’ve occasionally heard geese flying in, but there was no sign of them today. It was disappointing to discover bushes shooting up from their old nesting spot atop the abandoned beaver house — an end to their unique and safe mid-marsh maternity ward.


A lone blackbird silhouette was the only other presence. At least, the only one we saw. What lurked in hidden places stayed hidden.



For as the earth brings forth its sprouts,
and as a garden causes what is sown in it to sprout up,
so the Lord God will cause
righteousness and praise
to sprout up before all the nations. 

[Isaiah 61:11]

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Patience and Endurance…



The Coquihalla Highway was closed Monday due to a major snowfall. As we travelled homeward on Tuesday — the last day of April — a lot of the snow had disappeared, but it certainly didn’t resemble spring. The above verses of Romans (8:25 and 5:4) seemed particularly appropriate. There’s no rushing springtime. We just have to endure and be patient.

Writers know all about endurance and patience so this should be a cinch. In her guest post on Seekerville yesterday Connie Mann talked about endurance and why it’s too soon to give up.

“’Almost there’ is a tough, dry place to try to keep your bearings and stay focused,” Connie said. “It is lonely and frustrating and the doubt gremlins work overtime, whispering horrible things in your ear, day after month after year. The temptation to quit rears its ugly head, making even the most confident writer question the dream. If this is where you are today, let me encourage you. This particular wilderness, this season, won’t last forever, but it is often another stop, another way the Great Creator toughens our resolve for the rest of the journey.”

My plans for May are to write and to garden. I have control over the former, but not the latter if the weather doesn’t cooperate. Then again, if it doesn’t, I’ll be more inclined to stay inside and spend more time writing, so I suppose it’s all good. It’ll help me persevere.

Welcome, May! On your way in please collect spring somewhere and deposit it here, too.

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Springtime is an oxymoron

Leanne Shirtliffe is guest posting at Writer Unboxed today. Her topic is ‘Funny Oxymorons for Writers‘ and if you haven’t read it, you should. After I’d digested her definitions of ‘finished draft’, ‘aspiring writer’ and ‘mild heart attack’ I realized how many other oxymorons we live with. ‘Organized chaos’ is a regular for me, but ‘active retirement’ and ‘baggy tights’ are equally appropriate.

My cyber friends across Canada and the USA have repeatedly mentioned winter’s persistent intrusion into their springtime. Joylene Butler celebrated the ice finally departing from her lake while remembering that only two weeks ago nasty weather gremlins dumped 18″ of fresh snow on her.  Friends from Alberta have left for Mexico to escape the confused weather patterns at home. Spring is supposed to be a time of beginning again, with new growth, daffodils and cherry blossoms, but in some places it doesn’t seem to understand that.


I was away on the weekend, visiting family in the Okanagan, and of course had my camera in hand. Scenery flashed by (it always does at 100 k/hr on the highway) and I snatched photos that began with the rich greens of coastal BC’s developing spring season, moved to include passing snowcapped mountains, and finished with the interior’s barely budding branches.




I’ve decided this year ‘springtime’ is an oxymoron.


A little madness in the Spring
Is wholesome even for the King,
But God be with the Clown
Who ponders this tremendous scene —
This whole Experiment of Green —
As if it were his own!

[Emily Dickinson]

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